A prayer for the upcoming storm
I can feel a strange tension building.
There is a growing fatigue — it’s been quite a trip these last few months. There have been creative highs and personal lows. There have been unexpected meetings with the wild vistas of Soul and the cool depths of Surrender.
I am grateful for every second of it.
But, on a more mundane level, it’s also been six months since I had a proper holiday, and I can feel the weariness slowly accumulating in my bones as summer takes hold of the terrain.
At the editorial board we’re approaching the summer break, with one more publication to go. I catch myself counting the days.
It’s time to throw out an anchor, trust the lull of the tides, and relax.
But not quite yet. For at the horizon, I can feel a storm brewing. Something frightening in its bulk and intensity, something that might ultimately turn out to be little more than a lush — if powerful — summer rain, but it is making its arrival known all the same.
I don’t know what my storm will be about. I can’t tell what kind of release it will bring.
I only know it’s coming. I can taste it in the air, I can feel it in the faint stirring of the winds.
I pray for deep roots when it hits.
And wide, wide wings.
